


A Shadow Creeping Near

by Hyungwons



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: I am so sorry for this, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Psychological Torture, and i am so sorry to both hyungwon and wonho, for this hell that i've written, i still belong in hell, it's mostly just hate and everything bad in the world, lots and lots of violent thoughts, the relationship isn't even really mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyungwons/pseuds/Hyungwons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything around me is a blur and it feels like nothing else exists now except for his eyes staring at me from across the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shadow Creeping Near

**Author's Note:**

> I returned to my psychological roots for whatever this fic is supposed to be, I don't even know  
> I just know it's filled with disgusting visuals and I'm sorry to everyone for this. I'm mostly sorry to Hyungwonho, though.  
> And I haven't written in first person in so long what have I done

I feel like I'm being swallowed by darkness. I can tell the walls are closing in on me inch by inch, suffocating me. The only light in this disgusting, empty room came from a cheap lamp in the middle of the floor that barely provided any illumination further than a few inches. But none of that mattered anymore, because from the opposite side of the room I can see him glaring right at me, his wicked smirk forever burned into my brain. In his hand, a blade glinted in the light. Oh, he's smart. I know, with no doubt in my mind, that he's tempting me; testing me to see if I'll attack him and rip that knife right out of his hand. He wants to see how far I’ll go. God, I wish I could do it just so I can slit his throat, but I know that the second I give in to his temptations he’ll stop me; take away any hopes I have and with them my fantasies of how beautiful the sight would be to see him in a pool of his own blood.

Yes, he's very smart, I'll give him that! But I won't fall for his tricks that easily. I’ve been at this game for longer than I can even remember and patience has become my only light in this place.

But...I'll admit, I really want to do it. I want nothing more than to take that knife and plunge it into his back like he did to me. Or down his throat. Either way, I want to hear him screaming and begging in front of me for a change. But instead, I'm sitting here shaking; not in fear, but in hate. And all I ever hear anymore is his sickening laughter echoing in my head, mocking me. By now, I'm more than certain that it's only hate that flows through my veins. It's only screams and laughter that I hear. It's only violent urges that coil in my stomach. And, funny as it is, it's only pain that keeps me alive and he’s the one inflicting most of it. His disgusting smile and face are all I see when I shut my eyes anymore, and his very existence makes me sick to my stomach now.

He knows. Yes, he knows very well.

This place is like a prison without bars and it doesn’t even have any doors, either! I don't know how he gets around, how he leaves the room, but it doesn't matter to me anymore. I just wish he'd stay gone. I don't care if I'd rot down in this hell — if I'm not already — so long as I could without having to look at his face. 

I wonder though; how long it would take for me to just rot away with this place? I don’t even know how long it has been as is. How many days have I been stuck down here? Is it months? Years? I lost count a long, long time ago. Now, I can't even remember the day he brought me down here. He probably dragged me, and I bet I was crying and screaming while he was laughing. I gave up crying now. Once I allowed my hate to take over, my sadness and fear vanished. I stopped crying and screaming, hoping that someone would hear me beyond these thick concrete walls and save me. I gave up hoping that I'd be saved, that I'd ever escape from this hell. I know now that there isn't a way out.

But there are actually a few things I don't remember about this place. I can easily recall every horrifying time I cried and screamed at the top of my lungs, and all the times I used my own fingernails to try to claw my way out past the walls. But I can’t remember things like the times that I must have eaten. Or when he enters the room. I don't remember having a single meal in this place. I don't even remember pushing myself past my limit and passing out suddenly. I don't remember hearing a door open and close, or see his shadow pierce the darkness. I can't even remember what it's like beyond these walls — what my life was like before this cell became my home.

Maybe it’s best that I don’t remember falling asleep. Perhaps… Perhaps it's the only thing that still manages to terrify me. The times that I _assume_ I must’ve passed out from exhaustion and lack of sleep are always the most horrifying. I always wake to find myself chained to the wall, his dark eyes hovering over me and his laughter ringing in my ears. I remember those times the most. I would scream and scream as loud as I could, struggle to be set free, but it never helped. He'd let me go, let me retreat to that same corner of the room that has become my safe spot, but I was forced to look into his eyes before that would happen. The strangest thing is that when I look into his eyes, even now, I can see fear inside them.

What is he so afraid of? He isn't stuck in this hell like I am. His body isn't so broken beyond repair like mine. He isn't covered in wounds, fresh and dry blood, or filth. He doesn't have to feel blood trickle down his skin and feel like tiny knives poking into from his thousands of wounds. His fingers aren’t stained a deep red, flesh peeled from them and nails broken from his many desperate attempts to claw his way out. He doesn't have to worry about possibly opening his wounds up again in a place that would only infect them more than they already are. He doesn't have to bash his head against the walls to make sure he's even still alive — and be disappointed to find that he is.

But he knows everything I'm going through. I can see it in his eyes, the way he's looking at me with such emptiness in them, his eyes moving all over my body to burn every wound into his memory. Oh, but he doesn't care. I know. He never cared. Otherwise I wouldn't be down here. Though, even after all this time, I still have no clue why I'm even here. It was that question that always invaded my thoughts constantly, but no matter how long I'm down here, I doubt I'll ever find the answer. 

At first, I thought maybe he wanted to kill me, but then I'd be dead by now. And sometimes he speaks to me, his voice always making my blood boil. I want to spit in his face, knock him on the ground, grab a fistful of his black hair and bash his head against the floor. I want to make him feel the pain I've been feeling for longer than I can remember. I want to kill him like he did to me.

But what I want most of all is to kill that disgusting part of me that still wishes to crawl over to him and rest my head on his chest, to fall asleep in his embrace and feel his warmth against my broken body. I want him to sing me one of his songs in that soothing voice of his. I want him to pet my head and read me stories. I want to smile at him and see him smile back. I hate how those thoughts always make me feel a smile tugging on my lips, and how I have to hold it down with memories of everything he's done to me.

None of that will ever happen anymore, though. He saw to that a long time ago when he locked me in this hell. But I'd hate myself as well if I forgave him. There is no way I could ever forgive him after all this. I know that. But if that's the case...then why do I sometimes sit here, hitting my head against the wall to remove those thoughts, to stop myself from loving him again?

Those thoughts always depressed me the most… I didn’t usually think about suicide, surprisingly, as I still look forward to the day I get to make him suffer. But when those thoughts fill my head, when those fantasies distract me from everything else; I just want to end it already. But I don't want that. I don't to live like this anymore, but I don't want to die, not yet. First, I want to do to him everything he's done to me. 

Oh, there are so many ways I'd love to do it. Maybe I should tie him down like he does to me and peel his fingernails off one by one; slower with each one. Or maybe I'll carve all my pain into his body — but that'll require a blade. Or how about hammering filthy nails into his body? Maybe I could find a way to fit them all in somehow, not letting him pass out, of course, because I need to see his life fade away before my eyes and I need him to see my smile as I get my revenge.

Yes! Yes, that's exactly what I'll do! It's just a matter of time, my dear. That bit of fear that often lingers in your eyes? Oh, you'll really have something to be afraid of. I'll make sure you scream. Hear me? I'm going to make you feel my pain over and over and _over_ , just like I was forced to for such a long time. Yes, it's time I finally inflict all my pain onto you, Hyungwon.

 

_My body freezes in place as the feeling of being watched engulfs me. My eyes move to meet with his and all too soon my feeling of security vanishes — it is crushed, twisted, and thrown away with a mocking laugh in my face. His eyes are wide and his grin is spreading from ear to ear as he peeks around from the corner, his blond hair seemingly glowing in the weak light of the hall he’s hiding in._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked whatever this is but also burn it. Burn the whole damn thing, please!
> 
> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated, thank you!


End file.
